The First Day of School, The Jones Family Way
by VictorianChik
Summary: Several months after the end of the 4th Movie, Indiana decides his son needs to return to school. Mutt disagrees, and the two of them begin a battle of wits and wills, each wanting to win.
1. Determined

AN: I just saw the new movie and I encourage you all to see it. Afterwards, I drove up to my family's vacation home, but I could not get the family dynamics of the movie out of my head. Here's my spin on what might have happened several months later, a simple one-shot that was fun to write and even more fun to picture as I wrote it.

I warn you I've only seen the movie once and I may get the details a little fuzzy, so bear with me. Once it comes out on DVD, I can get everything correct.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Marion stirred the porridge thoughtfully, the metal spoon clanging against the pot. She wasn't used to cook breakfast; before now she only wanted tea in the morning and Mutt tended to sleep until eleven or else be up with the sun. But she was trying to take her role as a mother and wife seriously, and she felt that included cooking breakfast. Maybe back when she first met Indy and she was the brassy gold digger, she could dash around without a care, but now in 1957, she was a wife of a professor and respectable member of society. She was even wearing a short apron over her loose trousers (she was not quite read to start wear skirts, heels, and pearls like the ideal housewife).

She could cook nothing more exciting than porridge, eggs, toast, or bacon, and so every morning they had to have a combination of the two. Yesterday it had been eggs and toast, today porridge and bacon, and tomorrow porridge and toast. Indy never complained, and Mutt only looked disgruntled because of the last month.

A whole month of arguments, of stomping to his room, of Indy stomping after him, of the two of them arguing. Marion had tried to stay out of it, only interfering when she thought they were about to come to blows, which had been several times during that last few days. Mutt had yelled, pleaded, begged, whined, pouted – everything he could do to try to change Indy's mind. But Marion knew her new husband well, knew the stubbornness that was mirrored in their own child, but Indy had eighteen years of bull-headed obstinacy over their boy and Indy would not back down.

And so bright and early that morning, Marion had stepped into her son's room and told him to get up. Mutt had groaned and said that he was sick.

Like any good mother, she reached out to feel his forehead. When it did not feel warm, she proceeded to yank off his covers and threatened,

"If you're not downstairs, dressed, in eight minutes, I'm coming back up here with a bucket of ice water."

"I don't want to go," Mutt wailed, throwing his arms out on the bed despairingly.

"I didn't ask what you," she countered. "You get ready and put on those clothes," she pointed to the starched clothes she had had hung there the night before, "and you come downstairs. Believe me, you don't want me sending your father up here."

Mutt moaned again, but Marion smiled as she went into the kitchen and began laying out the cups, plates, and bowls. She was just ladling the steaming porridge into bowls when she heard the floorboards creak behind her.

Smiling, she turned to see her husband standing there, looking fine in his suit with the straight cuffs and neat bowtie. "Every bit a professor," she noted as she approached him. They kissed, one of those brief, sweet kisses that Marion treasured because they were so simple. Not breathless kisses from escaping death yet again, or passionate kisses from defeating their enemies and returning victorious. Just quiet kisses that promised he loved her.

"Where your son?" he growled as he sat down.

"So today he's my son?" she tried not to smile as she returned to the food. "For the past month of bickering you've been shouting that no son of yours will be a college dropout. Yet on the first day of classes, he's suddenly my son again."

"He's conniving like you," Indiana gave her a knowing look. "He'll try to get out of it someway, sneak out the back or pretend to be sick."

"He already tried that, and I told him to get up and get dressed," Marion began setting the food on the table. "And before you ask, I washed and pressed his nice clothes so he won't be going in that leather jacket you hate so much. Although . . . you have a leather jacket, too, you know."

"From the 20's," Indiana snarled. "Mine's classic – his is some cheap black knock-off that he probably stole from a city gang!"

"Mutt doesn't steal," Marion poured him a cup of coffee.

"And we're not calling him Mutt at the University. It's Henry."

"You hate being called that," Marion looked at him. "You decided to go by _Indiana_ rather than _Henry_ when you were young."

"_Indiana_ has distinction. _Mutt_ sounds like a dirty junkyard dog. Where is he? We're leaving in ten minutes."

"You don't have to leave for twenty," she sighed as she went to get the rest of the food. "You're so grouchy this morning."

"I am not grouchy – I am ready to –" Indiana stopped at Mutt appeared at the doorway of the kitchen.

Mutt was dressed in basically the same clothes as his father, but where Indiana was wearing light brown, Mutt wore gray, and Mutt wore no tie and had left the top two buttons of his shirt open defiantly.

"Where's your tie?" Indiana demanded.

Mutt trudged to the table and sat down with a surly look at his father. "I'm not wearing one."

"You have to wear a tie. It's the first day – everyone looks nice on the first day."

"Well, I'm not everyone. And I don't want to go."

"This isn't up for negotiation," Indiana announced. "You're coming with me to the University. You're starting classes, one of which is my own, and that's the end of it."

"But I don't wanna go to school," Mutt whined, letting his shoulders slump. "I told you I want to open my own shop and work on motorcycles. I told you that I didn't care about –"

"My father," Indiana pointed a stern finger in the teenager's face, "was a professor. I am a professor. You are going to finish college, and then we'll talk about motorcycle shops."

"I'll run away," Mutt shot back.

"I'll track you down," Indiana said triumphantly. "There isn't a corner of this damn globe that I couldn't find you, boy, and I'll drag you back at the end of my bullwhip."

Marion kept her smile off her lips because she knew Indy was not joking. "Let's keep all whips and running away at a minimum today. Honey, you know Indy is going to help you out the first few days."

"Great, so everyone will know I'm not just the teacher's pet, I'm the teacher's son. Thanks a lot, Mom!"

"Don't get fresh with your mother," Indy ordered. "And I pulled a lot of strings to get you accepted so you better show me nothing but gratitude."

Mutt rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He had tried his hardest, but now it looked like he was going back to college. "At least let me ride my motorcycle."

"I'm driving and you're coming with me," his father decided, starting to eat the porridge.

"Come on, Mom," Mutt looked at his mother. "I'll stand out like a sore thumb. All the girls will think I'm a baby."

"One girl, not girls," Marion told him. "I don't mind you having one girlfriend, but you are not turning into your father with a dozen."

"So I have to go to college like him but I can't hang with girls like he did?" Mutt protested. "That's completely unfair."

"Eat your breakfast," Indy told him.

"Not hungry," Mutt said.

"Eat it," Indy ordered. "It's a long time until lunch and I don't want you getting restless in class. I know how you get when you're hungry."

"Well, you know everything," Mutt grumbled. "You know I'm going to flunk out of every class."

Marion quickly got up from the table in pretense of getting more coffee, just so she wouldn't have to see the expression on her husband's face. She could not imagine Indiana's temper if their son flunked out.

"You flunk out," Indiana pointed his spoon at Mutt, "and it will be the last thing you ever do."

Mutt huffed and shifted and sneered, but he finally settled down and ate some of the food, including a cup of coffee.

"All right," Indiana pushed his chair back, "time to go. If only you'd do something to that hair."

"The hair stays," Mutt put a hand to his combed-back hair.

"Fine, get in the car," Indiana directed. "And you better shine today or your motorcycle will become the newest buried treasure in our backyard."

Marion followed them outside. Indiana had his briefcase in one hand and the keys in the other, but he stopped to kiss her, pressing his lips against hers for a second longer than usual. She smiled at him and then stepped towards Mutt who was scowling.

"Do your best," she said quietly before kissing his forehead.

Once they were both in the car, Indy at the wheel and Mutt glowering in the passenger's seat, she leaned down to look at both of them.

"Ah, my college men. You," she looked at her son, "be good. And you," to Indy, "be nice."

"Be nice?" he raised an eyebrow. "When am I not nice? I swear, Mutt, you look at me like that one more time and I'll drag you behind this car all the way there. And trust me, it doesn't feel good."

Marion smiled at both of them and straightened as Indiana started the car.

"You know I hate you," Mutt said the moment they pulled away from the house.

"Yeah," Indy nodded, "I'm sure you do right now. But an education, that's the best thing I can give you, and someday you'll thank me."

"No, I won't."

"We'll see," Indiana turned his car towards the University. "But then, you'll be too stubborn to admit it, just like your mother."


	2. Crazy

AN: I got a lot of reviews for this one-shot, asking for more. So I decided to turn it into a longer story, but keep the chapters short. I really want to see the movie again, but no one has the time to go with me. So I'm writing it the best I can remember.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

The ride to school was quiet, the loudest noise the rumbling engine of their car.

Mutt stared out the window, refusing to look at his father. He wished he had the nerve to tell the old man off. Just tell him no, a flat angry no. No, he wasn't going to the college. No, he wasn't going to give up motorcycling or fixing them. No, he was not doing what anyone told him anymore.

If he just had the nerve – come on, man! Stop being such a baby! He had faced the Russians and the alien world and killer ants and waterfalls. He had done things most guys his age wouldn't dream of, shown courage in moments of fear, been a damn hero for all he had done, but somehow he couldn't find the courage to stand up to one single man.

Mutt's jaw twitched, but he clenched his teeth tight together. He was not scared of his father. He could not be scared of him. He had not been scared of Colin who hadn't told him what to do too much. Colin had been rather quiet, not really bothering him that much. His mom was always the disciplinarian as far as he could remember, making sure he didn't get away with bad or bratty behavior. Colin had been nice, and they had done stuff together, but Colin had been involved with his work and Mutt with his friends. He couldn't remember any confrontations with the man, and when Colin had died, Mutt felt sorry, but it did not change his life too much.

But the man sitting beside him in the car was not Colin, nor was he like Colin in any way. Indiana Jones had a force around him, even when he was sitting doing nothing, and Mutt could almost feel that force inside the car. The way his father held the wheel, calm, confident, with the assurance that he was in control. It was always him, Mutt thought angrily, always the great Indiana Jones in charge, telling people what to do.

"Stop the car," Mutt growled.

Indy glanced towards him, concerned. "Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I want out," Mutt grabbed for the car door handle.

Instead of slowing the car, Indy pushed on the pedal harder.

"What are you doing?" Mutt demanded. "Let me out."

"No!" Indy raised one finger, not quite pointing it at his son and not quite pointing at the ceiling, keeping it somewhere in between to tell Mutt to pay attention and to be quiet.

"No?" Mutt raised his eyebrow. "No?"

"You heard me," Indy grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. "You're not getting out. You stay where you are and stop arguing with me."

"Look," Mutt clenched his hands into fists, "I appreciate you thinking I need college and being all concerned about my future, but I'm telling you right now, I'll be fine without it."

"And I'm telling you right now you either to shape up or pay the consequences."

"The consequences? What, you're going to take away the allowance I don't get?" Mutt challenged. "You're going to not let me see all the friends I don't have here?"

"Keep pushing me and you'll find out," Indy threatened. "As long as you live in my house, under my roof, you obey –"

"Then I'm moving out!" Mutt declared. "I'll get my own place and work where I like and do what I like and –"

"You are going to school," Indy shouted. "End of story."

"That's what you think," Mutt said in a low voice.

Ahead, the light was red, and Indy began to slow to a stop. Mutt put his hand on the handle and pulled up, opening the door.

"Step outside this car, and I will tan your hide like you would never believe," Indy warned.

"You wouldn't," Mutt declared, keeping the door open but staying in his seat.

"I'm done talking," Indiana stated, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "I have tried to be a good father – giving you space to adjust to your new life here, trying to let you be your own man. I know I know nothing about being a father. Hell, my father knew nothing about it, and I know less than him. But right here, right now, I am telling you that you're going to college even if I have to tie you to a chair and carry you into the classroom."

"You always want to control everything!" Mutt exploded. "From me, to school, to Mom –"

"You leave your mother out of this," Indy ordered.

"You left her and now you want to come back and pretend like it never happened."

"I have made mistakes, I admit that."

"Good, then I get to make them too," Mutt shoved the door open and leapt out of the car.

Indiana swore, but the light turned green, and he had to pull ahead before the car behind him started honking. Speeding the car up, Indy swerved to the side of the road to jerk the car to a stop before jumping out himself. He could see Mutt up ahead, walking down the sidewalk.

Mutt probably thought he was too cool to run so he stalked ahead, his whole body stiff. Indy paused just long enough to grab what he needed from under the car seat, tucking it under his jacket. Then he started for his son.

Mutt kept up the swaggering pace until he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw the most frightening thing he had even seen in his life: his father charging for him with an expression of pure rage on his face. Mutt leapt back in fear and turned to run for his life.

"No, you don't," Indy yelled.

Mutt heard something whiz through the air and then something wrapped around his waist and jerked him backwards. Looking down, he saw the end of a bull whip wrapped around him, pulling him backwards. Before he had the chance to wiggle free, he stumble back several steps and then a hand clamped down on the back of his neck.

"Big mistake," Indy seethed, keeping a firm grip on the whip handle. He always kept a whip in his car, just in case he ran into trouble, but he never guessed he would use it to catch his own fleeing son. "Very big mistake. The worst you will ever make."

"Let me go!" Mutt tried to pull free. From the corner of his eye, he could see two girls in poodle skirts walking together, giving him wary looks. He must seem ridiculous – in nice school clothes, tied with a whip by a raging professor. "People are looking - you're embarrassing me."

"I've not begun to embarrass you," Indy told him, pushing his fingers down to ensure Mutt could not run. "We're going back to the car, and I will deal with you when we reach my office."

"I was just kidding," Mutt tried as he was marched back to the car, Indy's hand on the back of his neck and the bull whip still around his waist. "It was a joke – I was always going to come back. I just needed some air."

Indiana said nothing until they reached the car. "All right," he snarled, "this is the last choice you get to make. If you promise to get in the car, ride to the college, and walk quietly to my office, I will take the bull whip off. But if you're going to fight me, the whip stays on, and I drag you and the whip into my office."

"But people will see me," Mutt looked horrified.

"That's the idea," Indy retorted. "Last chance – whip or no whip?"

"No whip," his son muttered under his breath.

"Are you sure?" Indy could not help pushing him a little further.

"Yes, I'm sure," Mutt tried not to yell. He wished he could punch the old man right in the face, but he did not think that would do any good at the moment.

"Are you going to behave?"

"Yes," Mutt said, low and sullen.

"_Yes, Dad_?" Indy prompted.

Mutt shot him a heated look, probably preferring to call Indy _sir_ than the other title.

"I'm waiting," Indiana tugged on the end of rope, almost knocking Mutt off balance.

"Yes, Dad," Mutt finally gave in.

"Good boy," Indy pulled the car door open and unwound the whip. "Get in."

Mutt stepped past him, and Indy barely could resist the urge to smack the kid's rear end or at least whack him on the back of the head as he ducked into his seat. Indy's temper always showed when he was provoked, and he knew if Mutt had been someone else, the kid would be on the ground right now from one of Indy's solid right hooks. But though he did not know much about being a father, Indy guessed that punching your own son and knocking him unconscious to the pavement below were not marks of a good father. Plus, Marion would have his head.

"Thank you," Indy growled as he shut the door. He felt reluctant to step away, afraid the kid would bolt the moment he moved and he would have to chase him down again. But as Indy rounded the car to his own door, the passenger door stayed shut.

Indy got into his seat and started the car. Mutt stared out his window, hissing his breath between his teeth and scowling. Indy hated the look on his face – it was the same he himself had worn the day he left his father's house and never returned.

An icy hand of fear gripped Indy's heart. What if Mutt decided to leave? Just flat out left and did not return? Marion would be heart-broken – Indy could already picture her face when she realized her son had left, those beautiful eyes widening as they filled with tears, her lips parting for a quick intake of air, her agonized whispered, "Oh, Indy, no . . ."

"How could you do that to your mother?" Indy roared.

Mutt flinched. "Do what? You're the one who wants me to come with you. She doesn't care."

"We aren't even to the school and you're already in trouble," Indy growled as he drove the car, shifting the gears in short jerky movements. "You wait until I find a quiet moment to deal with you – we'll see who's sorry then."

"You're completely crazy," Mutt said. "You're off your rocker, old man."

"Not yet," Indy pointed the finger at him again. "And when I get finished with you, you'll be thinking those killer ants would be a blessing after me."

Mutt looked at him and thought his father was acting quite mad, but it was a madness Mutt had seen before. On their way to the alien kingdom, that same sort of focused rage that drove Indiana forward and made him such a fearsome foe. Unfortunately, Mutt never thought he would see that rage directed at him.

Swallowing hard, Mutt turned to look out the window while his father drove hard and fast to the college. Looking back, Mutt wished he had chosen a more appropriate time to run, like when his father was in the midst of teaching and would not miss him until later. Now, Indy was hot and tired before they even reached the campus, and that meant he would be grouchy and short-tempered and ready to snap at Mutt at the least provocation.

Mutt closed his eyes in despair. He had forgotten that one of the classes he had to attend would be Indiana's own class. Stuck in a class taught by his own father who was already angry at him. Could the day get any worse?


	3. Box

AN: Recently, I've been reading up on the Fifties. It was a fascinating time, especially after the McCarthy Era and the fear of communism and the teenagers defining themselves with slang and clothes and music – I love it all.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Twenty minutes after trying to run for his life and being pulled back at the end of a bullwhip, Mutt found himself walking beside his father up the front steps of Marshall College. Indy was carrying a briefcase full of papers, hurrying up the stairs, but taking the time to open the door for several female students and teachers.

Mutt waited for the women to pass, sticking his hands into his pants' pockets. His right hand curled around his switchblade, the cold metal pressing into his fingers, and he shifted his weight to one foot.

"Come on," Indy held the door open for him. Indy wore the same look he had worn since Mutt had been dragged back to the car – a stern expression that promised no good: lips pressed together, brow slightly drawn, jaw tight, and fire in his blue-green eyes.

Mutt trudged along, dragging his feet as much as he dared. When Indy looked back, frustrated at his slow movement, Mutt pretended to be looking around at the hallway, like he was interested in the design of a college building.

"You'll have time to look later," Indiana told him. "Right now, we're going to my office so you can get the tongue-lashing you so richly deserve."

"Dad," Mutt gestured furiously to the milling students before hurrying up, "people can hear."

Indy gave him a look that said he did not care, but by then they had reached a door bearing the words _Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. Associate Dean_.

Indy unlocked it and held the door open. "Inside."

Mutt slouched into the room and went for the closest chair, flopping in it and crossing him arms, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

Indy shut the door, strode to the cluttered desk, and set his briefcase down. "Now, listen," he began stacking up papers on one corner of the desk to give him work to work, "I don't know what that little stunt out of the car was all about, but it's time to cut out the nonsense. This is a college campus, and you need to act like you belong here."

"But I don't," Mutt protested. "I didn't even finish high school."

"I'm well aware of that," Indy snapped, his hand gripping the papers so tight they began to crumple. "But I knew I'd never get you back to high school, not at your age. So it's college for you, young man."

"What is with you?" Mutt demanded, spreading his arms wide. "When we were being chased by the Russians, you were all tough guy and cool cat –"

"Cool cat?" Indy repeated, raising his eyebrows in disapproval.

"Yeah, I mean you're old and kind of a fream, but you weren't a total nosebleed. Now, all you do is yell at me and get all over my case."

"Let's just put the slang away for now," Indy heard his voice growing louder, but he pushed his temper down. "I don't yell at you."

"Yeah, you do," Mutt insisted. "'Go to school, go to bed, take a bath, come home on time.' Even Mom doesn't get on me as much as you do."

"I am trying to help you improve," Indy ground out. "That's my job as a father."

"I don't need your help," Mutt retorted. "I've done fine all these years on my own, by myself."

"Oh, yeah," Indy was sarcastic, "riding around on those motorcycles, worrying your mother half to death."

"Mom and I take care of ourselves," Mutt sat straight up. "She didn't need you all these years, and she don't need you now."

"Well, she's got me, and I'm seeing that you shape up," Indiana could feel his pulse beating in his forehead, and he did not understand why he felt so upset. He had survived a lifetime of people chasing him, torturing him, shooting at him, punching him, but none of them had ever made him as angry as he felt sometimes at the young man sprawled in his office chair. He loved the kid so much it hurt, but at times he wanted nothing more than to pound some sense into that stubborn head of him.

"Look, I'm old enough to do what I want," Mutt decided. "You chose to walk out on Mom, I'm choosing to leave college before I start. At least my decision won't leave a kid thinking his stepfather is his real father."

Mutt jerked himself out of the chair to head for the door. Indy grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back down in the chair.

"Move an inch from there and you won't sit for a week," Indy bellowed.

Mutt opened his mouth to retort that the old man was all talk, but before he could say anything, a tap sounded on the door.

"Come in!" Indy snapped in the same loud voice, before adding, "I'm mean, please come in," in a quieter voice.

"Good morning," Dean Stanforth stepped inside, looking very proud and dignified in his gray suit, his right hand clutching several papers. "Ah, a new quarter. I can feel the excitement in the air."

Mutt snorted, and Indy turned on him.

"Stand up! Stanforth, this is my son, Henry Jones, the III. Son, this is the Dean of the college, Charles Stanforth."

"It's Mutt," Mutt said as he shook the Dean's hand.

"Mutt?" Stanforth said uncertainly.

"It's just a nickname," Indiana tried to smile, but it came across more like a grimace. "One that he's not going to be using much longer."

"I like my name," Mutt insisted. "You got to keep yours."

"Mine is one of the United States," Indy pointed out. "Yours is what you call a junkyard dog. You might as well be called –"

"Mongrel?" Stanforth suggested.

Both father and son looked at him, not at all pleased, and the Dean took a half of a step backwards.

"My apologies, I was only trying to be helpful. I do hope Mr. Jones enjoys his studies here, seeing as how we made exceptions for him, ignoring the whole lack of the high school diploma, you know."

"Oh, trust me," Indy said darkly, "he's more than appreciative. He'll be at the top of his class."

"Every inch his father's son," Stanforth smiled, trying to lighten the mood. When neither Jones smiled, the Dean gave up. "Oh, do what you like. But we are having a faculty meeting this afternoon. Only an hour," he assured Indy before the man could grimace, "but you have to be there. You're the Associate Dean now and that honor comes with responsibilities."

"I know that," Indy protested. "I will be at the meetings."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Stanforth assured him. "It's just that you have a talent for disappearing in the middle of the quarter without informing anyone, and students' grades don't just assign themselves."

"That was years ago," Indy objected. "I have done a good job these last few years – turning grades in early, even."

"Yes, Jones, but that disappearing sort of thing remains on your Curriculum Vita for sometime."

Bored with all the school talk, Mutt wandered towards the open window. He was rather relieved that the Dean had come in at that moment. His father's lecturing got his blood boiling quicker than anything else. Mutt hated being treated like a kid, and Indy made it even worse with his condescending tone when he scolded. Everything became a lecture on how to do it better – from reading and studying to how to spend his free time to how to keep his room. The man had even criticized the way he mowed the lawn.

Mutt scowled as he put his hands on the window sill and leaned out to breathe the warm air. A week ago, he had thought he was doing a nice thing, pulling the manual lawn mower out of the tool shed. It was heavy and the kind you had to push at almost a run or it wouldn't cut any grass. For the next three hours, he struggled over the lawn, grunting as he shoved and yanked the machine back and forth, sweat running down his forehead.

Marion had come out and told him it was too hot, that he was going to get heatstroke and he should come in right now and have something to drink. He refused, determined to finish the yard himself and not leave it half done. Earlier in the morning, Indy had commented that Mutt never finished anything, that he just up and quit when he got bored, and Mutt was not stopping until the yard was finished. Marion finally marched out into the yard with a huge glass of lemonade and insisted he drink it all or she was making him go inside right then and there.

Mutt had gulped down the whole glass and got back to work. He finished the yard just as his father pulled up, and Mutt stood there, feeling stupid for wanting to show his dad what he had done, but needing to do it anyway, needing to hear a few words of encouragement. Indy had nodded over the yard, even gone as far as to clap Mutt on the shoulder for taking the initiative to clean up the yard. But then Indy began to point out the uneven rows the mower had left, the edges that still needed trimming, and the bushes that could use pruning. Mutt had lost his temper and jumped on his motorcycle. He had returned that night to find Indy waiting up for him with another scolding, this one about going off without telling them and worrying his mother.

Mutt gripped the window sill a little tighter, trying to block out the sound of the two professors talking behind him. It was completely unfair, the way Indy just waltzed right in and tried to take control of his life. Marion told him what to do every now and then, usually because she was worried about his safety or health, but she didn't point out every little wrong thing he did. Sometimes, his father seemed to be cramming eighteen years of scolding and lecturing and parenting into a handful of months.

"Are we going to discuss the rallies again?" Indy said to Stanforth. "They hate communism – let it go. The kids will have their rallies and we'll walk around them."

"It's not the simple," Stanforth insisted. "Sometimes they get to be quite loud, and we on the board must decide whether or not we will allow them on campus."

"Jeez, I'm a dictator now," Indy groaned.

"Shh," Stanforth warned. "You can't say things like that here."

"I fought the damn Nazis. Communism doesn't scare me."

"We don't need any witch hunts here," Stanforth whispered. "McCarthy may be dead, but suspicion still lingers."

Mutt rolled his eyes. It figured – a bunch of old guys sitting around in suits, panicking over the thought of someone accusing them of being a communist supporter. And here he was, going to college to learn to wear suits and panic over stupid worries. Suppress the alien-landings, but go crazy over communism. He hated college already.

Mutt leaned farther out the window. He considered just jumping out – his father's office was on the ground floor – but he knew he could not embarrass Indy in front of the Dean. Mutt was that considerate, though it seemed that his father was not – Indy never seemed to care who was around or watching when he started to lecture. Mutt even wondered if Indy liked an audience, someone to see that indeed he knew how to play the role of the stern father, could even do the finger-pointing and head-shaking to show just how serious he took his job as a father.

"Faker," Mutt muttered under his breath.

A sudden movement caught his eye, a tiny flicker barely noticeable. He leaned farther out the window.

Yes, there it was, barely perceptible. A small green garden snake curving through the grass.

It was late in the season for snakes to be out, but the unusually warm weather and the recent rain must have driven the small creature above ground.

Mutt glanced over his shoulder. The two men were involved in a heated debate over if Indiana should teach anything connected to the Russians and Indy was arguing that Russian history should be allowed while Stanforth disagreed.

Quick as he could, Mutt reached far out over the sill and scooped up the snake. It felt warm and rubbery in his hand as he cradled it to his chest. The snake was surprised at being lifted up and it squirmed against him until it realized that Mutt wasn't going to hurt it. Straightening back up, Mutt dropped the snake into his coat pocket and casually strolled to the shelves where several boxes were stacked up. The boxes were for sorting or cataloguing artifacts, Mutt guessed, but he found a small cardboard one and pulled it down.

He slipped the snake into the box and closed the lid – the lid was loose enough for the snake to breathe but not escape. Mutt kept the closed box in his hand as he headed back to the men.

"This is ridiculous," Indy was exploding. "In the 30's, we couldn't teach anything German because we were Nazis supporters if we did. Then we were bombed in '41, and everything Japanese went out the window. Now it's the Russians. How can I teach world archeology when I can't talk about half the world?"

"I hear you," Stanforth persisted, "but what can we do?"

"It's this bureaucratic nonsense that makes me wish I stayed on in the field," Indy growled. "Nothing is politically correct anymore – you can't talk about anything except television and this music they call Rock and Rolled."

"Rock and Roll," Mutt piped up. "Not 'rolled.' Just 'roll.' Rock and Roll."

"Whatever, we're going to class," Indy snatched up his briefcase. "Come on, Mutt – first class with me. What are you holding?"

"This box was on your desk," Mutt said innocently. "With a note addressed to you, but that must have fallen off. We could take it to class – you could open it after then."

"Fine," Indy said, still frowning at Stanforth. "Let's go. I swear, they get more and more controlling every year. Why can't they just let us teach and stay the hell out? I don't go to the capital and tell them how to run the country. Why should they tell me how to run my classroom?"

Mutt followed his complaining father down the hall. In one hand, Mutt held the closed box, and he tried not to smirk as he kept up with Indy's fast pace. Mutt could only wonder what the man would say when he realized that a live snake was only feet away from him.

Indy stopped at a closed door and opened it, going into a classroom. He headed for the front desk, and Mutt went into the classroom as well, setting the box on a corner of the desk and heading for a back seat.

"Front row," Indy told him, snatching up the eraser and applying it to the chalkboard in brisk strokes. "I want you where I can see you and you can't fall asleep."

"Sure," Mutt slid into one of the front seats as other students started coming in, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."


	4. Book

AN: Okay, an extra short chapter, but I wanted to get something posted on this story. This chapter may seem a little controversial, but remember this is the fifties.

Since he dedicated one to me, I dedicate this chapter to jlbrew23 – I really like his Indy stories, and I love his Batman story.

Disclaimer: I do not own, and I'm ready to buy the movie on DVD when it comes out, like right now, please. Seriously, it's been two months since it came out and I want it now.

--

"Welcome to my class," Indy sat after all the students had sat down, only a space or two empty. "This is a freshman level Archeology class. Please take out a sheet of paper and write down the requirements for this class."

All the other students began to reach down and pull out composition books and opened to the front page. Friends asked to borrow paper and pencils, and eventually everyone had supplies, except Mutt.

He started to ask the guy next to him for a paper, but the young man looked scornful at Mutt so he just sank down in his seat sullenly. He looked up at Indy with a disgruntled expression, half-surly, half-defiant.

"I am Professor Jones," Indy wrote his name on the board. "I will be your professor for this quarter. I will have office hours from 10-12 every Monday and Wednesday, and I may be available at other times with an appointment."

The whole class was scribbling down the information, but Mutt sat still with nothing in front of him.

"For this class," Indy continued as he opened one of his own books and took out a sheet of paper, "you will need the textbook available in the bookstore, a composition book for notes and research, pencils and pens, and access to a typewriter."

As he spoke, Indy walked in front of Mutt's desk and set the paper and a pencil down, clicking the pencil sharply on the desk before walking back behind his desk to write on the board again. "You will take three tests for this class. Each test will cover multiple countries, eras, and figures in both history and archeological research. At the end of the quarter, you will turn in a typed paper, minimum of 2,500 words."

"That much?" Mutt blurted out.

The whole class fell silent, the rustle of paper and pencils stopping as everyone stared at Mutt in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," Indy turned from the board. "Did you have a question Mr. –?"

"Williams," Mutt said, his eyes challenging and stubborn.

Indy stiffened, just little. Probably no one else noticed it, but Mutt saw his father's chin lift the tiniest bit, his jaw tightening. "That's odd," Indy said tersely. "A colleague said your name was Jones."

"They were wrong," Mutt replied.

"Fine," Indy stepped from the board, pausing by the desk and putting his hand on the corner, inches away from the closed box holding the snake. "May I see your drivers' license to clear up this mistake?"

"Jones is fine," Mutt muttered. Something about the way Indy was standing told him not to push it.

"You feel that the paper is too long?" Indy went on. "I believe that it needs to be that long to adequately cover a topic, including research and analysis. Double-spaced, typed pages, it's about ten pages. And I will know if you plagiarize. Any questions?"

Indy addressed the whole class, but he looked right down at Mutt.

No one spoke, and Indy returned to the front.

"I will be starting with ancient Egypt and looking at civilization and discoveries around the Nile," Indy continued. "We will be studying artifacts and major discovery sights, but we will also consider history, religion, culture, and politics of the Egyptians as they all play an important part for researchers to recognizing their artifacts."

Mutt sat like stone, refusing to write. Indy saw it, and his eyes glinted as he stared down at his disobedient son. "Mr. Jones, can you not be troubled to take notes?"

"Sorry," Mutt shrugged, "but I'm not sure I'll be attending this class for the rest of the quarter."

"You're thinking of dropping?" Indy asked, returning to stand by the edge of the desk.

The box shook slightly, the snake inside getting antsy.

"Something like that," Mutt replied.

"And do you think your parents will be please with your decision?" Indy's voice was icy.

The box rocked again, and the front row of students noticed it.

"My mom won't care," Mutt replied arrogantly.

"And your father?" Indy hissed the words.

The box was shaking violently, and the whole class was torn between watching it and the fight between their new professor and his student.

"My father abandoned us when I was little," Mutt shrugged. "I don't think he should have a say in what I do now."

Indy opened his mouth to retort, but a girl on the first row pointed to the box and said, "Look, it's moving!"

Indy glanced down and saw the rocking box. Reaching for it, he said, "It's probably something round rolling inside – _Jesus Christ_!"

The moment he lifted the top and saw the snake, Indy swung at the box, sending it tumbling to the floor.

The snake lurched out of the box the moment it hit the ground, and all the girls in class started screaming. The guys stood up to see what it was.

Indy jumped up on his own chair, grabbing onto the back as he watched the snake wind on the floor. "Somebody get it!" he roared over all the screaming.

"I hate snakes!" one girls wailed.

"Watch it, watch it – here it comes," Indy yelled as the snake zigzagged back and forth on the wood. "Someone get it out, right now!"

Mutt would have laughed – his daredevil father who could fight his way through any danger was now standing up in a chair, completely panicked over one tiny snake. But Mutt didn't want to scare the girls (and there were quite a few pretty ones in the class), so he pulled out of his seat and went after the snake.

The snake did not like being thrown to the floor, and it kept wriggling in circles so it took Mutt a few seconds to grab it. Once he got a hold of it, he stepped towards Indy (still up on the chair) and held it out, asking, "What should I do with it?"

"Get it away from me!" Indy bellowed. His face was pale and sweaty, and he leaned so far away from the snake he nearly fell off the chair. "Throw it out the window, throw it out the window!"

Mutt went to the open window and tossed it out.

"Shut the window," Indy ordered, not venturing off his chair.

"It's too hot," Mutt objected.

"Shut it, and we'll end class in a few minutes before it gets hot," Indy commanded.

Mutt reached up and pulled the window down. Only then did Indy slowly step off the chair, and most of the girls went to their seats. A few were whimpering, and a small blond girl from the back ventured, "Why was a snake in that box?"

"I don't know," Indy put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, trying to breathe calmly. "Someone delivered it to my office, and I –" Indy stopped. He lifted his head up, pinning Mutt with a hard look.

Mutt tried to look cool and relaxed, but he finally shifted the smallest, and that was all the admission of guilt Indiana needed.

"That's it!" Indy roared. He grabbed one of his textbook and stomped around his desk. He grabbed Mutt by the back of the neck and hauled him out of the desk. A gasp passed over the class, but no one dared to say a word.

"We will be right back," Indy marched Mutt out into the hall. Indy glanced around furiously, saw the empty classroom next to his, and pulled Mutt into it.

"Oh, come on," Mutt said in a voice much more respectful and quiet than he had used all day. "It was just a little garden snake – it wouldn't hurt anybody."

"I don't care," Indy reached out and smacked Mutt on the back of the head.

"Hey," Mutt protested, rubbing the back of his head, but Indy smacked him on the shoulder and the arm, peppering him with open-handed swats wherever he could reach as he lectured.

"That is not how you act in a classroom. You don't pull pranks, you don't interrupt, and you don't show me attitude in my own classroom."

"Ow, Dad, stop," Mutt tried to put his hands up to fend off the smacks, but Indy was not having it.

"I'll teach you to interrupt my class," Indy grabbed him by the ear and pushed him facedown over the nearest desk.

"What are you doing?" Mutt demanded, but then Indy slammed the book against his rear end.

The swat made a huge sound in the empty room, and Mutt tried to lurch off the table to face his father, but Indy held him down with his free hand.

"Stay down," Indy ordered. He slammed the door down again, and Mutt shouted,

"You can't do that! I'm not five!"

"If you were five, you'd be over me knee and I'd be using my hand," his father declared, emphasizing his statement with a terrific wallop.

"Stop it! Let me up, you –"

"Call me a name, and I'll tan your hide _after_ class as well," Indy threatened, swatting him again.

Mutt clenched his teeth together. It hurt – a thick textbook was being swung against his rear end with enough force to about knock him over – but he was furious that his father would do that to him in the middle of a college campus where anyone could just walk in. However, Mutt was determined to man it out and not protest – he wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of hearing him cry or beg for him to stop.

Indy swatted him three more times and then yanked him up. "Look at me."

Mutt rebelliously raised his eyes, knowing he better obey or suffer more swats.

"Consider this a warning," Indy told him. "You are going back into that classroom, and you better be the model student or you won't like what happens afterwards. I want you quiet and attentive. Other students are paying for this class. They are not paying to hear you mouth off to me. You're wasting their time and mine, and it ends right now. What do you have to say?"

"Fine," Mutt muttered.

"'Yes, Dad'," Indy prompted sternly.

Mutt began to glare, but Indy raised the textbook up in warning.

"Yes, Dad," Mutt gave.

"You pull anything like this ever again, and I'll use my belt," Indy promised. He pointed to the door. "Move."

The moment their professor had left with his unruly student, the students had begun to whisper to each other, wondering what on earth was going on. One student, a brown-haired boy named Philip, had been brave enough to tiptoe to the front of class and put his ear up to the wall.

"He's yelling at him," Philip reported. The whole class fell silent, barely breathing.

"The snake couldn't hurt anyone, the kid's saying," Philip continued. "But the professor doesn't care. He's still yelling, yelling, yell –"

The sound of a loud swat rang out, and the whole class froze.

A few seconds of awful silence, and then another swat.

Philip turned and hurried back to his seat. They all stared at the wall in horror as the sound of more swats came through.

"Oh, it's awful," one girl whimpered once the swats died. "I never imagined they used corporal punishment here."

"They did at my high school," a boy whispered. "And it was a wooden paddle there, with holes drilled in it."

"Mine just used a ruler on your hands," someone else volunteered.

"But this is college," a red-headed girl protested. "Not grammar school or high school – college, where adults go. They can't do that here – can they? Oh, did you see how angry he looked? I've never been more scared in my life, I wanted to cry."

"Well, that jerk put the snake in the box – I saw him carry it in," another boy spoke up. "Dr. Jones must not like snakes. And it's kind of a stupid prank. Like you said, this is college, not grammar school."

"And he was interrupting, too," another girl commented. "Just running his mouth to no end. I mean, I barely had time to write –"

She fell silent as the door opened, and Mutt walked in, followed closely by a very grim Professor Jones.

Dropping the book on his desk, Indy grabbed Mutt by the collar and the back of the chair he had jumped on. Pulling both the chair and his son to the corner, Indy turned the chair to face out of the corner and pushed Mutt down into it.

"Eyes on me, Mr. Jones," Indy ordered.

Mutt's cheeks flamed as he glanced back to the rest of the class who were all watching him, but then he set his eyes on his father, hoping he could ignore the rest of them. His hands were shaking slightly, but Mutt clenched them into fists and dropped them in his lap. He was never speaking to his father again – hell, he was disowning the man forever. As far as Mutt was concerned, Henry Jones, Jr. did not exist.

He could have forgiven the man for smacking him on the back of the head and on the arms – Mutt was pretty sure he had deserved that much for interrupting. And he might have forgiven him for the handful of swats with book because he knew Indy's phobia of snakes, and if they had been at home, Mutt might have accepted the punishment reluctantly. But to do it in the middle of the college and then make him sit up front – unacceptable.

Indy went on to describe the rest of the work for the class, but Mutt did not hear a single word as he sat there seething. Indy paused to ask if there were any questions, but no one dared ask anything.

"Good, see you tomorrow," Indy nodded to dismiss the class.

For most of his classes, his students slowly got their things together and moseyed towards the door, stopping to chat with him or query about future projects. But today, they all gathered up their stuff and moved to the door as fast as they could, not one meeting his eye as they passed him. In a matter of seconds, the room had emptied, and Indy found himself alone with his son.

"I hate you," Mutt told him bluntly.

"I'm not too fond of you right now either," Indy retorted. "Come on, I'll walk you to your next class. And I swear, you give Dr. Matthews any of this attitude, and I will pound you into the ground."

"I'll tell Mom," Mutt said, barely audible.

"And I'll tell Mom what really happened," Indy returned. "We'll see how she takes it, you interrupting my class. This is my job, what pays for our house and clothes and food. Would Mom like you acting this way? Would Oxley?"

Mutt scowled at the way Indy talked about his mother, calling her 'Mom' as if Mutt was a little kid and calling her Marion would confuse him. But that was true – this was his father's job, just like Ox's job. And Mutt knew he would have never treated Ox that way.

"Fine," Mutt relented. "I'll go to the classes."

"And don't you ever find another snake," Indy warned, "or I'll fill your bed with scorpions."

"That's not the same," Mutt protested, but Indy was already pushing him towards the door.


	5. Uncool

Indy walked Mutt to his class, lecturing him the entire way about how to behave in college. Mutt pretended to listen, nodding along and looking very serious whenever his father shot him a hard look.

"Here you go," Indy stopped by an open door, "your composition class. Go in and don't cause trouble. Come back to my office afterwards. You know the way?"

"Yes," Mutt rolled his eyes. "I tracked you down across the United States – I can find your office."

"Fine, but come straight back," Indy ordered. He hesitated for a moment, almost reluctant to leave.

"You're worse than Mom was on my first day of first grade," Mutt muttered.

"Smart mouth," Indy smiled wryly and turned away.

Finally on his own, Mutt walked into the class. He planned to take a seat in the back where he could sleep through the class unnoticed, but he froze in the doorway. Most of the seats were taken, and to his horror, he recognized most of the students from his previous class. They must be freshmen, like himself, with the same schedule of classes.

They stared at him, rows of eyes just looking.

Mutt panicked for a moment and considered turning and running. He could run all the way home and tell Mom what happened, and once she heard it, surely she wouldn't make him go back to the scene of his humiliation. Mutt almost turned, but then he stopped and held his head up.

He hadn't run from anything in his life. Oh, sure, he got bored a lot of times and ditched school, but that was because he had lost interest, not because he had ever felt scared.

He stalked into the room and headed for the back row. Heads turned as he walked, but he refused to back down or look ashamed. As far as he knew, no one else knew Professor Jones was his father, and Mutt would rather they think that Jones was a hard-fisted tyrant terrorizing a student than a strict father reprimanding a son.

Mutt took the end seat in the last row and tried to look bored and aloof. After a second, the other students looked away and started talking among themselves again, occasionally glancing back at him.

Mutt wondered how long he would have to put up with the uncomfortable atmosphere of the class, but a second later a brown-haired boy took a seat beside him.

"Hey," the guy offered his hand, "I'm Philip Mores."

Mutt shook it warily. "Mutt Williams – er Jones."

"Mutt?" Philip grinned for a moment. "Your folks hated you that much?"

"It's Henry Jones, the III," Mutt explained. "But everyone calls me Mutt."

"Henry Jones . . ." Philip's brow lined as he said the words. "Wait, isn't that the other professor's name? Only it's junior with him."

Mutt swore silently at giving himself away so easily.

"He's your father?" Philip's eyes opened. "You – you put a snake in a box on your father's desk the first day of school when he is your teacher, too? Are you suicidal?"

"Sometimes," Mutt mumbled, feeling rather foolish. It did sound bad when Philip said it that way.

"My old man would have nailed me to the door if I tried such a thing," Philip shook his head. "I got a lecture last night about how much we're spending for me to attend here. Don't you hate that family crap? 'You're representing the family now so don't screw up'."

"Yeah, it's a crock," Mutt agreed.

"You wouldn't believe how hard I studied last spring," Philip went on. "I was a wreck before the entrance exam. I couldn't sleep and I kept having nightmares where I was taking the exam in my underwear, sitting on a flagpole, and trying to write on the back of a leaf with a fork. I was so glad to get that dang thing over with. You struggle with the test?"

"I didn't take it," Mutt admitted. "My dad kinda . . ." he trailed off, almost guiltily.

"Luckily for you," Philip scowled for a second and then asked, "What else are you taking?"

"I don't know," Mutt confessed. "I was fighting him so hard about having to go here that I didn't ask what my classes were. College isn't for me. I want to work on motorcycles."

"Knew you were a greaser," Philip playfully elbowed Mutt's arm. "You belong on the road with Elvis and Brando, not sitting here in this class. You're a rebel."

"Who's a rebel?" a girl with long blond hair in a ponytail sat down beside Philip.

"Amy, meet Mutt Jones," Philip motioned grandiosely toward Mutt, "our newest rebel."

"Aren't you the joker who put a snake in Professor Jones's class?" the girl frowned.

"Weren't you there?" Mutt retorted, feeling out of sorts with her prissy tone.

"Maybe," Amy looked Mutt up and down with distain. "Let me guess, greaser-wanna-be but not quite dangerous enough to pose a threat to anyone."

"I can hold my own in a fight," Mutt insisted.

"So a troublemaker?" she challenged. "That's the last thing we need here with the commie scare and -"

"Amy," a girl called from the front row.

She went up front, giving Mutt one last disdainful look as she flounced to the front.

"Hey," Philip smacked Mutt lightly on the arm, "she wants you."

Mutt furrowed his brow in confusion, and Philip went on. "Oh, yeah, girls always act all prissy and huffy in front of guys they want to – well, you know. I bet you anything she likes you."

Mutt glanced down where she sat beside her friend, both of the girls talking.

"Wait for it," Philip said. "Any minute she'll glance towards you. If she makes an exasperated face, she's into you. If she rolls her eyes, it's a done deal."

Mutt watched her carefully. Amy was not looking at anything except her friend, keeping her attention on the other girl. They were talking, giggling, and sharing some great secrets that Mutt didn't care about at all because she was just a dumb girl and their secrets were all dumb.

Then Amy glanced his way, just for a second. Their eyes met and she looked away. But Mutt caught the slight roll of her eyes.

"Yes," Philip clapped him on the back, "that's swell. Your first step into the forbidden paradise. You think her friend might be into me? Amy says I'm a joke for a guy, not her type at all, but maybe I have a shot with her friend."

"Do girls talk about their guy friends to their female friends?" Mutt wondered out loud. "You think Amy has said anything bad about you?"

Philip's face fell for a moment, but then he rallied. "That's fine. They're too stuffy for me anyway. What do you think about that girl over by the wall? Do I have a shot with her?"

Mutt had no idea how he got pulled into Project Get Philip Laid when he had known the guy about five minutes, but it felt nice to have someone his own age to talk to. He was used to being around adults – his mother, Indy, Oxley, and other grown-ups his mother had known. Even in the garage where Mutt hung out frequently before they moved, there had been only men in their twenties and thirties, not really his age. He hadn't really minded before – there had always been things to learn and knife tricks to practice and stories to hear – but it felt weird to talk to someone his own age who was concerned with sex.

Granted, Mutt had been thinking about sex, but that had mostly been in trying to ignore the fact that his mother and Indy slept in the same room. Mutt wasn't a child, and he didn't pretend that he had arrived on earth through Immaculate Conception. His mom had slept with Indy years ago, and Mutt was the result of that – uh, union. He had never talked about sex with his mother; Mutt had learned the facts of life through other boys at school and a ratty copy of a dirty magazine that they had dared each other to look at and imagine what it would be like to touch the scantily-draped model.

And he would die before he ever discussed anything with Indy. Every since Indy had answered his question about his mother - "There've been a lot of Marions, kid" – Mutt had steered clear of any other awkward questions. He felt certain Indy would be faithful to Marion (and Mutt would kill him if he wasn't), but that didn't mean he wanted advice on sex or any descriptions of his father's conquests.

And he really didn't want to think about what his father saw in his mother, what Indy thought when Marion had marched into the living room and snapped, "Indiana Jones, in our room right now."

"What did I do?" his father had complained as he put down his book and started for her.

"Oh, you know what you did. I saw the mud all over the rug. You snuck out in the middle of the night and tried to hide it from me. You want to have the rest of this discussion in front of the boy?"

Mutt had hunched down in his chair, wanting to be invisible, but Indy had followed Marion down the hallway, protesting, "I'm sorry, honey, but there was a lead on an Egyptian relic, and I was only going there for a moment and I promise I left the moment my contact was done and came straight home. I'm not running off, I swear. I'm sorry."

"You're about to be sorry," Marion had shut the door to their bedroom, but Mutt could hear their muffled voices arguing. He had escaped to go ride his bike, but when he came back four hours later, his mother was putting supper on the table and attempting to smooth her ruffled hair. Indy had sat at the table, reading his book, but bite-marks were all over his neck and Marion seemed to be limping slightly and they kept exchanging secret smiles over the dinner table and Mutt wanted to die.

He continued to wonder if he could live in the same house with two people who were so . . . enthusiastic about each.

But how Mutt felt about a girl he liked was completely normal and appropriate. He was young and ready to be in love – his parents were old and should know better. Old people should not feel anything for each other beyond mutual respect, and anything more than a chaste kiss before leaving for work was something no one wanted to see, Mutt felt certain.

He liked Amy – he was sure of that. Yes, he had known her only a morning, but this was the beginning of love. Mutt was sick and tired of feeling like the child in the house, and everyone telling him what to do and bossing him around. He was old enough to decide who he wanted to date, and once they started going steady, he knew the score would even out. It would be wonderful to say, "Amy is coming over and we'll be in my room and we don't want to be disturbed."

The look on Indy's face would be priceless and it would shock his mother, but that would be okay because she would finally realize he was an adult and then this ridiculous college business would be over and he could do whatever he wanted.

Mutt was in the middle of planning his future when Dr. Matthews came in and class started. It was an English composition class and it was enough to put anyone to sleep. The professor droned on and on about something called rhetoric, sprinkling his lectures with words like "Classical foundation" and "persuasive writing" and "rigorous pedagogy." And worst of all, Dr. Matthews made them write a short essay and stand by their desks to read it aloud.

The essay dealt with their reasons for coming to college, and Mutt had written several sentences about how his parents were making him come and he didn't need college and he was old enough to plan his own destiny. He was in the middle of trying to decide if you could actually plan a destiny as opposed to having it make plans for you when the reading aloud started.

The first guy said he wanted an education to help him get a good job; the next guy said his family believed in a well-rounded education as fundamental for self-development. Amy stood up and read,

"I came to college to improve my mind and sense of self. I come from a large family, two brothers and three sisters, and I want to prepare myself for the business world where I can support myself and not rely on others quite so much. America has always been about self-reliance and independence, and I'm proud to identify as an American. We face a communist war and we've just finished a world war last decade. In order for America to endure, her people must cultivate themselves and prove that we are worthy to be sufficient, strong, altruistic leaders."

Amy sat down. Mutt took his paper and crumpled it up. His imagined future with her began to crumble around his ears; she was smart and sophisticated, and she had seen him reprimanded by his father like a child. Dreams dashed to pieces upon the harsh stones of reality.

The other students read, and Mutt felt stupider by the moment. He doubted very much that he thought anything very smart and he wasn't sure if he could recognize a smart thought if he did think it and why did he ever think he could come here? He had some street smarts but not enough.

He had found Indy to rescue Ox and his mom, and he had needed both his parents to escape the Russians and the aliens. And Indiana Jones was the hero, not him. He was just Mutt Jones, Henry Jones, III, a sad third. No one cared about the third. First place was awesome, second place good, but third place was for the losers. His mother had deemed him a loser from birth when she named him the third.

"All right," Dr. Matthews glanced at the clock, "we have time for one more before class ends. The two gentlemen in the back, Misters -?

"Mores," Philip answered for himself and Mutt, "and Jones. I'll go. I want to read mine."

Mutt miserably looked up as Philip stood. Philip had a definite smirk as he started to read,

"I came to college for education, a good job, meeting important people, and all that fun stuff, but I really came to meet girls. College has more girls than ever before. You made it here, ladies, and we're glad to have you, and I hope I can be part of your college experience. Call me."

He sat down as the class erupted into laughter. Even the old professor smiled a little as he held up a hand.

"Now, now, settle down. I can't have my colleagues thinking my students have fun in my class or I'll lose my chances at winning the Grumpiest Professor of the Year Award."

"You deserve it, Matthews," Philip called back. "We'll help you win whatever you like."

Dr. Matthews laughed shortly and shook his gray head. "Far too light-hearted. Ah, well, enjoy your youth while you have it. It flees far too fast. Please read the first chapter of your composition textbooks by tomorrow. And ladies, do keep your eyes on the gentleman in the back. Make him behave himself."

"You can make me do whatever you like," Philip said as they all got up out of their seats.

The class left laughing, but Mutt dragged his feet, waiting until everyone else had exited before he went down the stairs.

"Oh, Mr. Jones," Dr. Williams said before he could leave, "a moment. I'm sorry you didn't get to read your essay in class."

"It was no good," Mutt shrugged. "I'm not – it's not – I don't really belong here."

The professor frowned slightly. "Your father is a tenured professor here. His father was an academic as well. Academia is in your blood from your father's side, and I've heard about your mother. She was a professor's daughter, and she's well-read and smart as a whip."

"Guess I'm not like my family," Mutt gave another shrug.

"Don't give up so easily. Sometimes in the hardest challenges we find out the most about ourselves."

"_What if we find out that we're not smart and we don't belong anywhere?"_ Mutt thought, but he couldn't make himself say something so personal to a man he had just met. He nodded respectfully, and Dr. Matthews smiled warmly at him.

"I'm sure you'll do fine here. Good luck for the rest of the day."

Mutt stared down at the hall floor as he trudged to his father's office. The door was open a crack, and he went in and dropped into the chair in front of the paper-laden desk.

"There you are," Indy was stacking books in the corner of the office. "I hope you behaved because every time I turn around – what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mutt let his shoulders slump.

"What's wrong? Did you act up in Dr. Matthews' class? He is one of the nicest professors here and it isn't –"

"No, Dad!" Mutt almost kicked the desk in anger. "I didn't do anything in his class. When are you going to get it through your head that I don't belong here?"

"We're not having this discussion again," Indy said, his tone cold and blunt. "I am telling you that you have to be here."

"And I'm telling you that I don't belong here. I'm not a child, Dad. I know you think you have to act like a father to me, but I'm old enough to decide what I want to do with my life. Hadn't you already left home when you were my age?"

"This isn't about me."

"You were my age when you met mom and –"

"No, I was older. I was twenty-seven when I met your mother."

"Well, how old was she?"

A curious look came over Indy's face. He shifted the smallest bit and seemed unable to look at his son. "She was – a little younger."

"Well, wait, she's ten years younger so that would make her –" Mutt's mouth dropped open. "She was seventeen?"

"Almost eighteen," Indy still didn't look at him. "And it was a different time. Seventeen then was like twenty-five now."

"Wasn't she the daughter of your college mentor?"

"Maybe. Enough questions about me," Indy pretended to straighten the books. "We just have to get through today – that's all that matters. I promised your mother I would get you through college, and I plan to keep that promise."

Mutt thought about muttering _"First promise you've ever kept," _but instead he decided to go for the shock value,

"You did whatever you wanted. I, too, am going to do whatever I want. I'm having sex with one of your students."

The look on Indy's face really was priceless.


End file.
